


Shiny Happy People

by zealousrebelmaker



Category: Evillious Chronicles
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Science, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Romance, Self-cest, Suspense, it'll remind you of Bioshock Infinite., there's a lot but
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 20:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4680479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zealousrebelmaker/pseuds/zealousrebelmaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She calls him her twin brother. The mask thinks otherwise. They know otherwise too. (Levia/Behemo)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

* * *

_11:31 PM, MARCH 10 XXXX_

He hears extremely old music from a very old phonograph. That's the first thing he hears.

His blue eyes flutter open, and he makes no effort to move- the effects of sleep and unconsciousness dulled his senses so much that he doesn't even feel like rousing himself. He's as still as undisturbed waters, stationary and unmoving.

He's mighty lightheaded, he'll give himself that.

Accompanying the recorded jolly-sounding music were the sounds of very ominous  _beep_ s akin to sounds coming from a medical monitor. They were horribly off-rhythm- dissonance resounded throughout the dark room, and he slowly figured that it was nighttime, wherever he is. Obviously in a hospital ward, but he doesn't remember landing in a hospital, or getting injured.

But then again, he thought to himself, most hospitalized patients in the inpatient department who regain consciousness wouldn't remember what happened before they got there most of the time, or worse, they wouldn't remember a thing from the day they were born.

If it's night, he really ought to carry on sleeping. There's no point being awake at night unless there's something important to do, like working a night shift or planning to burgle someone's house.

He just wants to sleep again, but something was...off.

Why is there a phonograph in his ward?

He feels too much pressure on his ribs to attempt deep breathing, but he does try and move his right pointer finger.

The way-too-happy music continues droning on, as if someone tried to recreate a bleak scene of idiots with top hats and flappers dancing in a large hall. The music must've been put there by either one of the nurses who seemed way older than their actual age, or maybe by his delirious aunt who dreamed of the old days.

He tries moving his arm, but he feels a certain amount of pressure.

It's an odd moment of wonder when he decided to turn his head to the right, only to see a female doctor sleeping right there with her head rested right at the side of the bed. She's breathing as slowly as he is, and he tries to get his vision all cleared up to properly see her.

And as if she had her own silent, personal alarm clock, she raises her head as she wakes, and the first thing she checks is whether he's awake, and he sees an instant flash of joy reflected in her blue eyes.

He saw something else, and he was particularly vocal about it.

It's the perfect picture of a memory- ridiculous phonograph music playing in the background of a hospital ward for the ambiance, the darkness as a cover, his battered-up condition to keep him grounded, and right before him was the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

And he said it.

"…You're beautiful," he whispered in awe, but his voice sounded as hoarse as sandpaper.

She stared at him for a good while- most probably because she was as awed as he. It's like looking into the mirror- this doctor has his hair, his eyes, his face, but her looking like him wasn't the reason why he called her beautiful in the first place. He'd choose this woman in a heartbeat if someone were to ask him who he'd like to spend the rest of his life with, and this is clearly mad thinking because he has no idea who this woman is in the first place.

To his pleasant surprise, she smiled, and for added amusement, she tried to regain her former professionalism. "Well, it's because we look the same," she laughed softly, brushing away a few strands of blonde hair. "How do you feel?"

"Weak," he responds, but he knew better than to give the stock reply. "...Lightheaded. My brain- was there anything wrong with it?"

At that, she frowned. "...Initially, a lot of things were wrong with it. I'm the neurologist in charge of your treatment. You were bleeding all over the place."

"Is it continuing?" he asked, trying to touch his nose, but the doctor's gently pushed his hand down.

"No. Rest more. Your entire body's been strained from crossing universes," she said, concerned.

"Crossing uni-"

Then it flooded back to him.

His ex-girlfriend. The murders. The banging at the door. His terror. Her hand. Her anxious face, her voice, and he remembered that she shouted along the lines of:  _"Come with me! Now! Please!"_

His body was dead beat, but his mind was shouting at him to bolt out of the room.

"Now I know what you're thinking," the doctor said as if she could read his mind, but as calm as she wanted to present herself to be, she obviously didn't practice what she preached. "I...well, it's a long story. You'd probably run out of the room before I start explaining things to you."

"I would if I could, but we both know I can't," the seemingly invalid patient weakly said.

She held his hand reassuringly. "You'll be fixed. I'll fix you."

"Who are you?" he asked the practical question. "Which hospital am I in?"

"I think the proper question would be 'Whose universe am I in?' actually," the doctor said somberly. "My name is Levia Barisol, and I'm...you."

There was a tense moment of silence.

"It's not a dream," she continued. "I brought you here to my universe from your universe through your mirror. When you crossed through, the atoms and cells that made up your body- I'm sorry, are you well versed in physics? Biology?"

"Both," he admitted. "C-Continue."

"Alright- the atoms and cells that made up your body were compromised. They were badly messed up, and I had to treat you here secretly. I didn't register you- I'll explain more as we go-"

"No, tell me now," he wearily said. "You took a big risk in bringing me here, so I think I need to know."

"I should tell you what matters most then," she said. "Your arrival here is unknown, and only known to me. I've studied on how to access to parallel universes- that's how I found you in the first place, and I'm researching on this thing called Malice. I admit that I pulled you into this without thinking, but..."

"...Thank you for saving me."

She instantly stopped speaking altogether, and she stared at him.

"Excuse me?"

"Thank you for saving me," he repeated. "I mean, I know I'm an unexpected experiment, but-"

"No,  _no_ ,  **no!**  You're  _not_  an experiment! I- god, I'm getting across you the wrong way, aren't I…?!" she exclaimed, looking as if  _she_ was the one who'd lose her head. She bites one side of her lower lip in a brief moment of low-key hysterics and mental pandemonium, but her patient ended up laughing.

"What?!" Levia demanded.

"You don't have to flood me with information! Calm down!" he laughed. "We'll start with the basics, okay? Like...you haven't asked me for my name. Maybe that's why you couldn't register me."

"I could've made up a name for you if I wanted to register you," she huffily pointed out, but she agreed to mellow down. "...Your name then?"

"Behemo Barisol."

"...Behemo, then," she conceded, tracing nonsensical things on his palm with her finger. "...I guess you can call me Levia. Or anything you want really- since we're the same person…."

"Admittedly," the tired patient said, "...it's a tough fact to swallow."

Levia found herself frowning. "...Is it not...I mean, is it an unpleasant fact to you?"

Was it unpleasant to him?

He looked at Levia- well, at this rate, looking at her was like looking at himself, and she appeared out of nowhere from a parallel universe to bring him to this entirely new life. There's a lot of questions on his mind and there's a lot that she has to answer, but he's not in the perfect condition to have a textbook load of information. But to leave his former life behind- what was he thinking?

"I...think you should give me more time to adjust," he admits.

"I...understand what you mean," Levia nods slowly, looking rather downcast. "I'm sorry. I thought that I should've done something instead of leaving you there-"

"-but it's not unpleasant," Behemo cuts her off. "You're me, I'm you. And that's a start."


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

* * *

_10:01 AM, MARCH 11 XXXX_

He recognized the name of the hospital- it's a family hospital that he used to go to. However, there were a few key differences, in where it seemed more...futuristic. Advanced. The nurses can either opt to walk or float on weird devices in case they were too lazy to walk. The doctors were rarely there- they only come in when called. There were no patients waiting at the outpatient department.

Behemo found himself walking past named and titled doors while feeling the overly sanitized floor beneath his bare feet.

He felt like an action game survivor, or a horror game hero, in where it's definitely safe to navigate a seemingly empty hospital armed with only a roll-able stick holding his IV bag. He's been assured by Levia that the floors are clean- there's no need to wear slippers if you don't want to, so he decided to just reawaken his senses after being out of commission for quite some time.

He noticed that the names were different. Dr. Robert Ducharme, MD, ended up being Dr.  _Roberta_  Ducharme, MD. He could recall a few names, but over here, they seemed to be of an opposite gender. The world he came from had to have their sliding doors manually slid open, but here, identification alone could make them slide open themselves.

All at once, he felt so alone. Alone in a familiar, yet not-so-familiar hospital. He wanted home. He wanted out.

But this is his new home. Or his old home. Or whatever universe-travelling called it.

This is his home, whether he liked it or not.

He absentmindedly got himself some hand sanitizer- it stung on his hands, and he figured that he should find Levia. His hair was tied back- it seemed that she had left him a ribbon to wear, but since he always had his hair down, it felt as if his hair was suddenly cut. At any rate, he looked more like the boy he's supposed to be, and he had no complaints.

_Boy …huh?_

He's 20, for crying out loud. A very effeminate 20 year old young man.

He looks for more changes- the hospital seemed mirrored. Mirrored, as in he remembered that a certain doctor's room was supposed to be at the right side of the hall, but in here at the angle he's going, it's at the left. He only takes note of small, minute details that he remembers- he doesn't remember everything. He's not that good.

He reaches the front sliding door...which, doesn't slide open. Odd.

"The AQI readings aren't very good today," a voice comes from behind him, and he turns around to see Levia, clad in a gray dress with her lab coat tucked at the crook of her arm. "155. The haze."

"Back home, we never had such a thing," Behemo commented.

"Do you use chamber pots to poop, then?" she asked, amused.

"We're not  _that_ primitive," he said, managing a grin. "I was talking about the haze."

"So I guess it's not that bad where you came from?"

"No."

Levia smiled- Behemo could surprisingly tell that she was smiling mainly to comfort him, and she reached out for his free hand before stopping herself. "You...don't mind, do you?"

It must've been really awkward- she wanted him here and he didn't know why. He was here and he didn't know what to do, but he takes her hand anyways. "I guess not."

Her hand was cold in his warm one, but at the present moment, she's all he's got.

"Regarding the hospital bills..." Barisol's practical heir asked, to which Levia shook her head, amused. Maybe it was obvious that Behemo was worrying about the bills since he was, for once, fairly penniless, and without anything to inherit in the first place.

"Healthcare's free," she laughs.

"You're joking, right?"

"Yeah."

"Is it just you here now?" Behemo asks- he knew that the question sounded pretty stupid, but he figured that it was justified since he saw no one in the hospital so far. "There's no patients in here."

"For the day," Levia shrugs. "I'm holing in until the haze clears, and so are you. You're in a worse state than anyone else in here given what you went through."

"No, I mean," he insisted, "there are no patients in here. The wards are empty."

She paused.

"Oh. Business isn't really good. I'm just a visiting doctor- actually, I'm not even a doctor. I'm a professor researching the human mind," Levia answers coolly. "But this place is reliable, even if there aren't so many patients in the inpatient department."

He found that he couldn't shrug to that.

"...Um...is everything okay?" Levia asks, noting the uncomfortable expression on Behemo's face.

"Everything's okay," Behemo lies.

Obviously everything's not okay. He spent quite a while recuperating in a hospital that seems abandoned yet maintained, and the only person he's met in this place is a female version of himself, whom he doesn't know whether to trust or not. She's obviously trying to decrease the gap between them, but everything just spells wrong.

Even more wrong than a slice of his personal past. Maybe this is retribution.

"I'll show you around once the haze clears up," she says with a freshly made smile. "For now, this is the safest place- actually, when you're indoors during a hazy day, it's the safest place you can get. Where can you go wrong with a hospital? The air's perfect in here."

"Without the patients and their possible airborne diseases?" Behemo dryly questioned.

"Exactly!"

Levia smiles over at Behemo as if he's made some marvelous discovery, and he looks down at his bare feet in a depreciating manner. It's really hard to be optimistic if she were to be in his situation. She didn't seem to understand, or at least she was  _trying_  to understand, but he figured that she gave up on it altogether.

He takes a deep breath of fresh hospital air.

"I'm going to look around, if you don't mind. Either you find me in a ward, or in my own ward in case I need to crash," Behemo said.

"I- sure, of course! I mean...do as you like."

* * *

_1:12 PM_

She knows that he's bound to find something out.

Levia bit the side of her lower lip as she looked at her coat-rack, having gained another garment to hang asides from her usual coat. A suit that was her size hung right there, nicely pressed and fresh out from the dry cleaner's, all ready for Behemo to wear once he gets better.

Which would be in a few days, or earliest, tomorrow. And would you look at that, she even bought him new shoes.

She looks around her makeshift office and shuts off her laptop, packing it into her bag as she decides to look for him. Levia knows that she's obviously a very bad actress, but what's the harm in keeping a few key things from him for a few days? Actually, the more he knows now, the worse it might get- if he's every inch of her, he might also be as hysterical as she is, and his condition might act up.

Might as well give him his new clothes now.

Levia carefully takes the plastic-wrapped suit and hefts the shoebox right on top of it, then opens her door. She heaves a sigh- she needs to get him all sorts of things other than food, clothes and shelter. A passport, an ID, a phone, and a new name. Or he could stick to Behemo Barisol and she'll just make up some story about him being her long-lost twin brother or something.

It'd work.

At any cost, she must teach him one vital thing: never trust Seth Twiright. She'd almost fallen into his tricks that could've cost her much more than just Behemo's life- if she went through with what he suggested, it would've killed her too.

She finds him easily enough- he's seated right at the waiting hall, looking through…

"What are you doing?" Levia finds herself asking. Behemo looks up and his expression tightens into a strict frown.

"...Reading patient records. Looks like there's no need to register me after all," he said, walking towards her as if to confront her. The male blond waves the papers in his hands in her face and draws his height up. "These were from  _three years ago_ \- this hospital was closed down!"

Levia willed herself not to look away from him, to not even flinch. "...We can't go out, even if that's the case. Not now. Not until the air's cleared."

He stopped himself from speaking too, or lashing out. They both stared at each other- Behemo stares with a thousand hidden questions in his head, and Levia stares with the hopes that he'd just trust her, even if it's hard to.

"...I bought you clothes and got them washed," she ended up saying.

It was only then that he noticed the clothes in the crook of Levia's arm.

"And shoes," she added, rather timidly. "Your size...I hope."

He gets what she's trying to say:  _'Please don't get angry with me.'_ He gets that maybe it's not the right time- she may be avoiding the confrontation altogether maybe because it's not her style to go head on at the present moment. He notices Levia shift uncomfortably, and he lowers his hand, deciding to put the papers down on the chair.

"...When did you-" Behemo started, but Levia cut him off immediately.

"Two weeks before you woke up, and a day after I brought you here. I went to the tailor's, I mean...you'd prefer custom-made, right? I've read about you before fetching you and..."

Levia looks away.

Behemo feels like an idiot.

He reaches out to take the shoebox and she looks up, slowly nudging the clothes to him. He takes that too- when was the last time he's worn a suit?

"Do I change into these now?" he asked. "I don't have to be on the IV anymore, right?"

"No," Levia softly says. "I mean...yes, you can wear those now, if you want."

They weren't exactly masters of communication, but it'd have to do. He'll look at the clothes and the shoes and manage a comforting smile, mainly to comfort her, and she visibly glowed at his change of mood.

"Thanks, Levia. Sorry about earlier," Behemo said.

"No! It's...understandable."

* * *

_2:40 PM_

When he emerged from his ward to show her how he looked, he could've sworn that he's never seen anyone gape that wide before.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

* * *

_9:30 PM, MARCH 12 XXXX_

She can't cook.

People say that one shouldn't tell themselves that they can't do something- they always can. But she saw Behemo eat the food at the vending machine, food which would not expire until next year due to unhealthy amounts of preservatives, and because he just recently barely recovered, his blood sugar levels skyrocketed.

He fixed that himself, much to her surprise.

It isn't as simple as a 'The King and I' song, singing 'Getting to Know You' in all angles.  _'Getting to like you'_ was already covered- she liked him  _so_  much, but  _'getting to hope you like me'_ required a herculean amount of effort.

Levia almost wanted to throw the spatula towards the wall- she can't do this.

She. Can't. Cook.

She's a professor studying the human mind, she belongs in the field of human neurology. She's absolutely not a hotel management major, or a culinary arts major, but she  _must_  cook for Behemo lest he starve.

She can't cook, but she must-

"Ah!"

Levia finds that the surprised gasp came out from her own mouth as she realizes a bit late that Behemo sneaked up right behind her to take the spatula from her hand. He wasn't wearing the blazer that was supposed to accompany the suit, nor the tie, but he had the shirt sleeves rolled up and his hair tied back, obviously prepared to take the helm in the hospital's kitchen.

In contrast to her, who had her lab coat wrapped around her waist like an apron.

"I'll start," Behemo said, snickering-  _snickering?_  It's the first time she'd seen him snicker.

"Are you making fun of me?" Levia asked, trying to snatch the spatula back. "Move. I can do this."

"You don't even have ingredients out yet," the sensible young gentleman pointed out, to which he opened the fridge, only to dismally find that the fridge was sadly empty, cleared out, and not cold.

Now  _he's_  the one who's a stupid-head.

"I figured," Behemo sighed. "It's been three years. We'll have to live with the diet sodas and low-fat cookies until, what did you say...the haze clears up?"

Levia was more thankful to the higher powers that Behemo's mood was clearly a lot better.

"From what I found out about you, you're a rich heir," the female scientist said. "How do you know how to cook-"

Behemo closed the fridge door and put the spatula away before checking that Levia didn't turn on the stove. "I indulged in anything feminine. Which would be why you would've been confused when you brought me here. I wore a dress, right?"

She found herself nodding. "Why?"

"Statement of fashion."

That's new.

"Weirdo," Levia slipped out.

"I get that a lot too," Behemo shrugged.

"You were bullied?" the female scientist asked, suddenly feeling extremely bad. "Oh, I'm..."

"Come on, Levia- if I were to be affected, I would've drowned myself ages ago. I'm still here, aren't I?" he grinned, looking around the kitchen for any nonperishable goods. "But I find that wearing suits give me more mobility, if I look at the bright side."

"So you like the suit?" Levia asked a bit too excitedly.

"Very much. Thank you, Levia," he smiled, pulling out a can of sardines while checking the expiry date. "I'll always trust you to make me look dapper."

" _Dapper._  Where did you come from, the 40s?" Levia laughed, loosening up.

"And you, madam, come from the 22nd century," he joked, and then he frowned at the can of sardines. "...We'd best keep this. If you're keeping me in an abandoned hospital, something's obviously up."

She almost thought that he was over that.

"Are we going all survival mode now?" she questioned.

"You chose not to tell me much about what I got myself into," Behemo said coolly, searching for a bag to put the can in. "And you're all I've got, so I've chosen to trust you. And because I trust you, I'll have to either resort to drastic measures to keep us safe or bust. Who knows- you might be hiding the fact that the haze kills or something."

"It...sort of does," Levia admitted. "This is an advanced world, after all. Finding a phonograph to make you feel as if you're home is like finding something extremely rare."

"Your choice of songs are dirt old," Behemo teased. "But in the event that we do have to leave, are we taking that bulky thing with us-"

_Click._

Flicker.

The lights went off.

"Well, the power's out..." Behemo sighed, but clearly, his alternate didn't think of it as a trivial matter. The lights were out. There's a cut in electricity. When there's a cut in electricity…

Levia quickly grabbed Behemo's hand and ran to her office.

His protests fell on deaf ears as she scrambled to grab her laptop and two gas masks, throwing one at Behemo for him to catch. He wears it despite asking too many questions, but she answers and hears none as she races towards the front door.

She found herself being forcibly pulled to the other direction.

"We have to get out!" she yelled, her voice muffled by the mask.

"Not through the front door!" he yelled back. "How long can we hold?"

"Ten minutes!" Levia cried out, and Behemo ran for the back door.

Basic biology would state that in such cases, strenuous activity is not encouraged as respiration would be at an all time high, taking in anything that the nose would inhale. That be damned- Behemo pulled Levia along as if he was pulling a weight, if Levia said that they could last ten minutes, he'll try to make it a five.

The damned back door would take two minutes given his speed. If he were to speed up, it would take only a minute, passing by all those named doors that no longer held their former owners for better and brighter days. The back door was wide open due to the power being out, so he rushed out of that…

...and he smelled the haze, and coughed violently.

Levia coughed too, but she felt herself being pulled again. There wasn't a soul outside- no people, no vehicles, nothing. It truly looked like a ghost town, but Behemo knew that this wasn't a good time to sight-see, unless he wanted this to be his final sight before his impending death. His movements were slowing down, he was starting to see double, but he pulled Levia and held her hand tightly until he spotted a sign.

_Hammond Bar._

Perfect.

He flung open the door, pushed Levia in, slammed it shut, and removed his mask to inhale an unhealthy amount of wine-addled scented air.

Levia took her mask off slowly, but she found that while she was breathing not only for dear life but for oxygen, she ended up being on the wooden floor of the bar. Her counterpart towered over her like some monument, and her legs were terribly sore from running and bad circulation. The shocked stares of three-day customers were on the two, and Behemo took one more deep breath before showing two fingers.

"...T-Two...Two Blue Ribbon beers, please..." he gasped.

The bartender arched an eyebrow.

"Sir, we don't sell that here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, according to sources, is a beer that was manufactured at 1949. Given that Levia's world is much more advanced than Behemo's, the bartender means to say that they don't sell it due to it being outdated.
> 
> Three-day customers in this world mean that customers linger in the bar for, yes, three days until the haze clears up.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

* * *

_1:39 AM, MARCH 13 XXXX_

"Well, sir, you're a lucky one! You could've died along with the lady!" the bartender joked- apparently after Behemo's slip up with the drink orders, this nitwit decided to go all old school on him with a dash of black comedy.

He's decided that Hammond Bar, as classy as every customer is, as pristine the premises are, could've been a mistake. Or maybe he's just mentally bullying the bartender.

And it's sweltering hot. He might have missed his blazer and tie, but he'll get them back someday.

The bartender fixed him and Levia two martinis, in which the gentleman looked rather perplexed at the sudden niceties. "I didn't order this," Behemo started, but the bartender shrugged and smiled.

"They're from the ladies over there."

He turned around only to spot a few young ladies with tight jeans and fancy designer blouses, waving over at him while giggling to themselves. One redhead had the audacity to say a "Hey, handsome! Drinks are on us!" before winking, blushing and turning away to talk to her friends.

The young gentleman suddenly felt a pair of eyes staring at him from behind, and he turned to see a much recovered Levia, looking almost livid.

"...Do you want my drink?" Behemo asked.

"Absolutely not!" Levia exasperatedly said, and  _downed_ hers.

He's admittedly never been to a bar before. Hammond's his first, and more or less, he was forced to put up with the conditions. The lighting's dim, the drinks were cold and he and Levia are more or less resting, recuperating at the bar table while wordlessly looking at the many bottles of gin, absinthe and various types of spirits. He can hear faint sounds of a person trying out a saxophone and another person trying out the piano, and he knows that they're safe for now.

Behemo asks if Levia's okay. She nods quietly.

"I think this would be a good time to tell me who set the power off," he gently said.

"It's probably one of my colleagues," Levia said with a groan, putting her hand over her forehead. "It's...a long story."

"Do I have anything to do with it?" Behemo asked, softly brushing her hand away to check her temperature. She lets him and relaxes before giving him her answer.

"Yes and no."

"Your colleague tried to kill us," Behemo pointed out, smoothing out Levia's forehead with his thumbs. "By shutting off the power, the air would've come in and if we were sleeping at the time, we'd be suffocated before we could even get the gas masks. So I think you'd better tell me this bit."

"If he checks the hospital two days from today and sees that we're not there, he'll know that we escaped," Levia mouthed, leaning into his touch. "I mean...what time is it now?"

"One in the morning."

"He'll start searching tomorrow, then..." Levia said drowsily.

Behemo turned to the bartender, deciding to ask something that seemed quite impossible. "I'm sorry, sir, but my...sister's quite out of it because of the haze. You got any place for her to sleep for the night?"

"Sir," the bartender sighed, "I wish we had beds. We all sleep on the chairs."

"So where do you sleep when the haze's up?" Behemo questioned, arching an eyebrow.

"On the floor behind this here counter."

Behemo clicked his tongue.

Levia shifted a bit in her seat, having no energy to even glare back at the women who were obviously eying her counterpart in their drunken states. She'd tried so hard to seem that she was supposed to care for him for the time being, however she had left the fact that she had transfused most of her blood to him still unknown. It would take more than water and food to replenish herself, but Levia was a prideful woman. She'll say nothing.

Hands encircled her waist, to which she stiffened to the contact, but she realized that Behemo was untying the sleeves of her coat to make a makeshift pillow for her head. He gently lifted her head up, placed the coat on the wooden bar counter and slowly placed her head back, letting her at least a bit of softness on her head. The side effects were unfortunate- she could still smell the haze, but it was better than nothing and it felt quite good.

"...Thank you," she murmured.

"I'll look around," he replied, getting up. "Sir, mind if I do some scrounging?"

"By all means," the bartender shrugged. "We've got stuff at the Lost and Found. People pick there when they're bored, really."

"I'll come back. Might search upstairs too- watch my sister for me, okay?" Behemo asked, looking over at a very drowsy Levia who obviously looked like she didn't want him to leave.

"Sure thing, sir."

* * *

_3:20 AM_

He's picked something, alright. Behemo looks at the cane in his hand and decided that it wasn't only classy, but it's something to fight with just in case.

There wasn't much at the Lost and Found at the second floor of Hammond's- he found old keys (which he kept), a very nifty phone (better than those touch screens, but he decided to leave it be), a laptop (honestly, who leaves these things here?) and other things that he wouldn't bother to remember. Behemo twirled his new cane in his hand while watching Levia sleep, and true to the bartender's word, he did sleep on the floor behind the counter.

The bar's dead.

It's his time, the night, the darkness. Sleeping people with their chests heaving up and down slowly as they breathed seemed to arouse something forbidden in the young gentleman, but strangely not counting his female counterpart sleeping beside him. Behemo sat there as vigilant as an owl, and even the musicians decided to doze off on their chairs at the no-longer lit stage.

He didn't plan to be Hammond's night guard, but he couldn't sleep.

Not with all these people, defenseless before him.

He could do something. Maybe he should start with the girls. The girls won't suspect a thing. Or the bartender- making fun of him like that. Ought to put someone like that in his place, right? Maybe the musicians- that guy with the saxophone wasn't doing his best, when people obviously wanted good music.

But he slowly took one good look at Levia and had his doubts about her too.

What were his thoughts when he went through the mirror, really? Was he that spineless to own up to the fact that yes, he's a deranged murderer who even had the flair to kill that bitch of a maid for her clothes? If Levia's him, then why was she hiding so many damn things, and why was he tolerating it so much?

Maybe this would be the next bitch he'd have to end.

But there was something about Levia that he couldn't help but- dare he say it, love. It was different- he could understand her feelings. He could understand her, relate to her, tell when she's uncomfortable. Then again, she's right there, sleeping, breathing...he could slit her throat and check how similar they could be.

**No.**

No, he  _doesn't want_  to.

No, he  _won't_  do it.

 _Not to her._  He doesn't know why, but not her.

He wearily got up and filled a small ice bucket with cool, clean water from the tap behind the bar counter, soaking a clean cloth into the liquid as he added some ice. Bringing it to the counter, he looked at his sleeping counterpart again before slowly lifting her head to take a hand, and he wrung the cloth to wipe her hand and arm. Behemo did the same with the other, and he got on his knees to handle her legs and feet, and he was done. He'll do it all over again when she wakes in the morning.

His sister.

It's believable.

* * *

_9:00 AM_

Levia wakes up to clean feet, a clean face, and currently, with her hands being wiped with a damp, cold cloth.

She looks around and remembers vague details blearily. She sees people having breakfast, and for a moment she thinks that she's dreaming- she's more accustomed to the hospital, so the sudden change of scenery made her balk a bit. The smell of buttered waffles permeated in the air, and there's excellent live music for the morning, and she saw that the person who's wiping her hands was none other than Behemo.

"Good morning, Levia," he smiled. "About time. Today's the last day of the haze."

"What- what time is it?" she sleepily asked.

"Nine..." and he checked the time. "Nine oh one. Breakfast's on the table," Behemo laughed. "We're having a good time here while you were out like a light."

She noticed that Behemo's wearing different clothes. A black button-up shirt and black slacks, accompanied with a yellow necktie- the stock uniform for the bar. He noticed that she was staring, and he sighed.

"Levia, I had to wash my clothes and dry them under the fan upstairs."

The wave of relief was so great. "Oh."

"Your younger brother's been taking care of you since seven in the morning, lady," the bartender laughed, serving up hot milk for a few who ordered them. "He's good, if not odd."

Younger brother?

"I...ah...yes," Levia smiled bashfully. "He's...he's great."

"I'm not the younger one!" Behemo protested, flinging the damp cloth right at the bartender's face.

The bartender caught the cloth and shrugged. "Well, it's all about the matter of who came out first."

"He's definitely younger," Levia grinned, taking a plate of pre-made waffles as she relished in the appalled face of her alternate. The babbling noises of disbelief came as expected, and the bartender chuckled, leaving his default place to serve more drinks and food to the three-day folks.

Leaving the gentleman and the scientist alone.

"...You called me your sister yesterday," Levia said with a sincere smile.

"Well, of course," Behemo said. "We look the same. And given what we are, I can't think of any other way to call you."

"Unless we can think of other names," she suggested, eating her waffles.

He drank his tea. "Mophead," Behemo suggested.

Levia twitched, then retorted: "Drag queen."

"Loser."

"Weirdo."

"Artemis."

"A- what?" Levia blinked.

Behemo shrugged. "I think the name rolls of nicely. Artemis. Artemis had a twin brother, right?"

"Apollo, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"By the time we get sappy," Levia said, smiling, "we'll go with that."

"Trust me," Behemo laughed. "We'll have plenty of time to get sappy."


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

* * *

 

_12:40 PM, MARCH 13 XXXX_

“What's a Black Box?” Behemo asked after eating his lunch.

The bartender smiled over at him and placed a shopping bag containing the clothes given to him by Levia, all folded and dried. He'll have to iron them later, he noted, after he deals with the current clothes he's wearing.

“It's somewhat like a recording device. Why?” the bartender asked. “Everyone has one. It's surprising that you don't know about it, no matter how rural you seem to be.”

“Read a bit about it in the paper. Medel Laboratories recently manufactured their latest model?” the blond said, trying not to make a smart quip at the bartender's remarks.

“Black Box Type...” the bartender trailed off, then sighed, “type ' _something'_. The question marks aren't exactly pronounceable...”

“...I can _see_ that,” Behemo dryly said.

“Yes, but you can't _say_ that,” the raven-haired bartender pointed out.

“Oh, yes I can,” Behemo challenged.

It's generally pointless to make such a big deal of it, but Behemo was rather ticked off no matter how good-natured the bartender seemed to be. All those little quips and remarks served to make him prove a small point, even though it's a point that most people could get if they only thought hard enough.

“Well, don't we have a challenging young gentleman today?” the bartender smiled.

“ _Black Box Type…..?_ ” Behemo said, trailing his voice off for at least five seconds before plastering a smug smile on his face in return. The bartender looked quite impressed and put the glass that he was wiping down onto the counter.

“Alright, alright, you win. Apparently, the question marks are supposed to host the first initial of your name,” he shrugged, throwing the cloth behind as it landed right into the sink. “So it's like Black Box Type A, or Black Box Type C, or B and so on. It's very expensive though-- Medel doesn't like to go cheap with their inventions.”

“Try me. How much?” Behemo asked, forgetting that he's flat broke.

“Retail costs, plus tax, would be 14,000 Tarils.”

The handsome heir to his family whistled.

“The other Black Boxes were much cheaper. You can get a second hand one for 70 Tarils, but the more advanced, obviously the more expensive. I have a Black Box 4.0-- back then I got it for about...7,000 Tarils?” the bartender sighed. “Left a huge hole in my pocket.”

“Why spend so much for a recording device?” Behemo asked, perplexed. He poured himself some iced water and drank a gulp while absentmindedly looking around for any signs of Levia.

“Beats me. It's something you have to tinker with. All I use is for is to record things, and suddenly some guy finds that he can hide in it, and some lady finds that she can put her things in it...I don't know how they can find out such things, really.”

“I'd like to have your name, by the way,” Behemo said, pressing the cold glass to his forehead. “I mean, you're the most decent and irritating chap I've ever met in this here place.”

The bartender couldn't help but laugh. “Parma. And you?”

“Behemo,” he smiled.

“Modern name, old-fashioned guy,” Parma smiled back. “Your sister's right over there, by the way.”

Behemo feels Levia's hand on his shoulder before he could even turn around, and he feels her face close to his as she bends a bit to rest her chin on that same shoulder. He could tell that she was smiling, so he smiled too, turning his head a bit to at least acknowledge her.

“So she is,” the blond male agreed.

“Haze'll clear up at 12:30 midnight,” Levia whistled. “Making friends already, Behemo?”

“Something like that,” he sighed. “Parma here's being a good sport.”

“12:30?” Parma sounded surprised. “Isn't that pretty early?”

“Quite,” Levia nodded, choosing to sit beside Behemo at the bar counter. “Really early, considering the rest of the three days. Then we'll leave in the morning and I'll drop the three-day payment for whatever we had here. Is that alright, Parma?”

Parma nodded. “I'd suggest you two leave earlier though. Need to tidy up, after all. And if you're having trouble, I'll help out.”

“That's acceptable,” Behemo nodded. “I've been wanting to find a place to crash in anyways,” he said, twirling his cane. “I need a good bed, even if it's a gurney.”

“You'd need something else, friend,” Parma smiled, slowly sliding a revolver on the counter towards Behemo. Levia's and Behemo's eyes both widened, but upon seeing Parma's perpetual smile, they ended up staring at the revolver instead wordlessly.

Nothing.

“...I'd suggest this for the lady,” Parma nudged gently. “You've got a cane-- a gentleman can do wonders with it instead of simply looking dapper.”

Levia wordlessly took it and kept it in her lab coat. “Who were you sent by?”

“Professor Held,” Parma genially smiled.

It was far more information for Levia than Behemo, to which the former actually knew and worked with the scientist rather than the latter, who knew nothing about him at all. Behemo looked at Levia as if he deserved a few answers, but Parma shook his head and took out some bills from the cash register.

“Everyone here in this bar will be your enemy tonight,” he hummed. “Now, would you like some milk?”

* * *

 

_11:12 PM_

“ _Now everybody, let's sleep off for a better tomorrow! Good night, and sleep tight! Well, for us, that is, thank you so much for listening to today's broadcast of Honily FM! I can't wait to go home...so for the time being, have the latest song from Yomi Hayori, 'Love My Stars'!”_

The radio remained on as Parma locked the doors of the bar, observing Levia's and Behemo's movements. They didn't discuss anything that afternoon-- Parma somehow refused to say any more on the matter, so it left the lady with the revolver and the gentleman with a cane.

Behemo really wished that he'd slit everybody's throats that night.

Levia noticed that the customers' actions were far more erratic that night-- she didn't notice so much when they entered the bar days earlier. They started talking about very out-of-context topics, glanced at the two every now and then, and one even winked at Behemo way too excessively. She might as well have blinked excessively so as to not be that obnoxious.

She could feel the weight of the gun in her coat pocket, and she held onto Behemo's hand tightly.

It wasn't just him who had sudden murder impulses, and this was a time when people were out for their blood. And she was the one with the gun.

Behemo observed the situation as well, not daring to say anything as he twirled his cane continuously, seemingly out of leisure. A customer whispered to Parma, and Parma nodded with his signature smile before beckoning him towards the men's.

It's so hard to trust people nowadays.

“I'll be back,” Behemo whispered to Levia, to which Levia looked instantly panicked.

“We're separating?” she asked in a horrified whisper.

“For the time being,” he nodded. “I need to lead half of the customers away. You'll have to take care of the other half. I'll be with you soon.”

“Behemo…!”

He squeezed her hand, let go and walked upstairs. She could see that a few followed, and she looked around her with the straightest face she could manage. She's left with seven people, herself, her alternate with nine people at the second floor, and a gun.

The only logical thing you'd do with a gun and people is to shoot them, right?

Right. Yes. Positive.

So she did.

Levia dragged one man by his collar and shot the back of his neck, and the rest pulled out guns as well, all ready to shoot Professor Barisol as ordered. The blonde got down and aimed to shoot at their legs, causing them to howl and scream in surprised pain, and she got up to shoot as many people in the head as possible. Parma was right-- things were much easier and quicker with a gun, and much less bloody.

“Behemo!” Levia cried out, running up the steps.

Behemo was handling his job rather fine-- he was experienced, to say the least. He didn't even need the revolver, because the cane, his fists and his feet were good enough for him. He strangled a few with the cane hook, drove the long stick down others' throats, got a letter-opener laying around while stabbing most-- generally, he was quite fine. It was harder for him because guns weren't so frequent, or rather, not so many people thought of being violent back home, but he disarmed them and killed them and that was that.

There's too much blood though, and his cane was dirtied with the fluids of innards.

“...I'm fine,” Behemo frowned, looking at his cane. “I might need to wash this.”

They both looked at the ticking clock. 11:39 PM.

“Where's Parma?” Behemo asked, slowly entering the gents to rinse his cane. Levia walked in as well-- what's the point being decent when no one's around?

“Downstairs. He brought one person in. I don't know why.”

“Should we check?”

“We should.”

“You trust him because he knows someone you know?”

“Professor Held's my superior.”

“For all we know, he may be using Professor Held's name.”

“Glad that you're suspicious. You'll need it,” Parma's voice came from behind them, and the twins turned around. The iconic bartender shrugged and patted their shoulders, to which the both of them obviously didn't take very well. One of the things that they had in common was the fact that they didn't like to be patronized.

Professor Barisol asked the practical question as she heard her counterpart turn off the tap. “So what do we do now? These people...they're all dead. We killed them,” she said, with a hint of horror in her voice.

“Nothing,” Parma whistled.

“Nothing?” Behemo raised an eyebrow, sounding surprised.

“Nothing. We go out, have a nice time, and you two run along home,” the bartender said, walking out of the restroom. “If I were you two, I'd knock myself out.”

“Now why would we--” Behemo started, moving in front to defend Levia, but a sudden blow to his head--

...

...

 

..............

 


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

* * *

 

_9:12 AM, MARCH 14 XXXX_

Behemo wakes up to singing birds, sunlight, the smell of breakfast and a warm hand holding his cold one.

His vision was still blurry and he blearily tried to make out the figure beside him, but noticing the striking blonde hair was enough for him to know that it was Levia. The breakfast he smelled carried the scent of freshly baked bread, and his coat and tie were hanging at the closet knobs. Sitting at the bedside table were a lamp and the phonograph from the hospital, playing nothing.

He smiled.

If he were to die, he'd like to see this sight as his last.

“Are you okay?” was the first question that he heard. Behemo didn't feel any urgency to get up, nor the urgency to do anything else. He just smiled weakly at the question and nodded slowly.

“I'm okay.”

No need for smart remarks here in such a nice sight, even though his head feels like someone had smashed it against the wall and remoulded it hastily for a presentation--

“...Someone bashed my head in,” Behemo bluntly said, deeming the peaceful moment destroyed.

“Ah, yes. _Someone_ did,” Levia frowned, releasing her hold on his hand to tear a piece of bread with her hands, proceeding to help him up to feed him. “ _That_ someone's receiving treatment in one of the wards.”

He looked at the bread in her hands and then at her. “ _Did you bash him in?_ ” Behemo asked, balking.

“I thought it's predictable that I should have done so,” Levia shrugged, gently pushing the piece of bread in Behemo's mouth. Unlike most people who would just leave it at that, she pushed a bit more in such a way that her finger could touch his lips-- it felt a lot like her own, and at the same time, not so much like her own. Soft. Almost cushion-like, when he moved his mouth to chew.

Behemo swallowed. “Do you _assault people_ often?” he asked disbelievingly.

“I'm known for being... _hysterical,_ ” Levia grinned. “Eat up,” she encouraged, tearing another bit of bread to feed him.

“I can feed myself,” he said, smiling at the thoughtful gesture.

“ _Apollo_ ,” Levia said softly-- the name on her mouth rolled off her tongue just nicely-- “you nearly got a second concussion. Let me do what I can for you.”

He looked at the piece of bread stuck between her thumb and pointer finger, and he sighed-- he wasn't in any position to argue. He's sick and hurt, and even though Levia seemed to be the source of all of his current problems, she genuinely tries to make life easier for him at her own expense. So he acquiesces.

So he opens his mouth, and she smiles and pushes another piece of bread into it.

“There we go,” she said. “There's tea, coffee and water.”

“Coffee-- no, tea-- no, water,” Behemo said, his words scrambled. “I need to keep my head clear.”

“Wise choice,” she nodded, and helps him drink.

The feeling was strangely mutual between them-- they didn't want the other to leave. He didn't want her to stop helping him, and she didn't want to stop helping him either. The warm climate following the aftermath of the deadly haze brought the need to have the air conditioners on, so the warmth of the water and Levia's hand worked wonders for him.

“Where am I?” he finally asked, looking around slowly in fear of another headache if he turned too fast.

“In Medel Laboratories-- my room,” Levia said, putting the glass of water away. “Can you stand? I plan to introduce you to a few people as my twin brother, preferably today.”

“You work here?” Behemo asked, trying to get out of bed. “Parma told me about a Black Box yesterday-- or was it a few days ago…?”

Levia laughed. “You want one?”

“I want one,” he said decidedly, and before Levia could answer, he grinned. “For free.”

“Greedy, aren't you?” she smiled, helping him up as he grabbed his shirt, letting Levia button it up for him. His pants were already on, so all she did was help him tie his necktie and he did the rest. After getting his shoes and his blazer, he tied his hair and nodded.

“Ready to go.”

* * *

 

_10:01 AM_

Levia walked the halls of her workplace feeling as if she's on top of the world.

It's a common trait-- whenever Levia was happy, she'd excessively smile and have a skip in her step. She'd greet her colleagues and her underlings, sometimes getting the names wrong, but she fully displays her joy. She walked past doors that had all sorts of nameplates and halls of all sorts of departments, excited to see her superior to introduce her alternate self.

Her twin brother.

Her _younger_ twin brother, which was even better.

Medel Laboratories main visual aspect would be the steel statue of the company's logo right outside, acting as a fountain to beautify the place with the lush amount of greenery. The receptionist's desk was fancy and futuristic enough, but reaching a few departments would make someone think otherwise. Most places were restricted, odd smells were all over the place (due to experiments) and the halls were whiter than white, reminding Behemo of either an asylum or a morgue.

It's a lot different from Hammond's, but he can't compare a laboratory to a bar.

Scientists, nurses, doctors, laboratory aides and test subjects ran to and fro, greeting Levia as they hesitated in dedicating themselves to their daily routines, their eyes glued at Behemo's figure. A few whispered among themselves about how alike they looked, how alike they seemed, so naturally they thought that he was a new addition to the staff.

If the sister was a novice physicist and a selective biologist, then what is the brother-- a chemist?

Levia stopped in front of a door and instead of doing what any ordinary person would do-- which was knocking, waiting and entering-- she flung the door open, laughing like a madwoman as Behemo tried to make out the name on the plaque that stuck to the door.

__ **Professor Held  
Biological Physics Group  
Leader**

“Knock first!” Professor Held exclaimed, to which Levia brushed it off and sat on the table, pulling the green-haired professor's green necktie so harshly that the elder man was forced to follow the motion of being pulled forwards.

Behemo almost wanted to close the door and run.

“Old man,” Levia grinned, “I really did it this time!”

“What is it now…?” Held wearily said, but he stopped short upon seeing Behemo at the door. The young man closed the door politely and tried to look indifferent to the whole exchange, but he stuck out like a sore thumb in the white-washed office.

“Well, you can see for yourself. I got myself a twin brother.”

In all honesty, Held felt a great amount of pity towards that said twin brother.

He looked exactly like Levia-- same height, same face, same eyes. He had her same build, and he saw the joy on Levia's face-- granted, Levia always smiled incredibly wide whenever she was excited, but this time, she was joyful. Extremely happy that he was here, when…

...when, well, she had told him a long while ago that she was to kill him. And now, she looks like she can't bear to be apart from him.

This is going to be a problem.

 


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

_11:30 AM, MARCH 14 XXXX_

Held's only spoken to Levia and Behemo for a while before the elder sister drags her younger brother out in her excitement to show him more things, but he's picked up enough from the exchanges.

Behemo is so alike, and so unlike Levia.

They've only exchanged pleasantries and each others' names, but Held instantly took a liking to the young man. Judging from the way he dressed, he came from older, more conservative times. Behemo was polite-- he used his proper honorifics, something that Held figured Gumillia would like. He seemed quieter than Levia, but that was too early to judge. Maybe if the young man started opening up, he might be more talkative, or even more so than his counterpart.

What unnerved Held, however, was the recent news about a massacre of 17 customers in Hammond Bar.

Parma told him that the two handled the ambush fairly calmly, no signs of Malice as they carried out their kills. _'They were still rational minded,'_ Held remembered Parma saying. _'Creative with the cane, the boy. Efficient, the girl._ _K_ _ept their heads and looked out for each other, so there's_ _proof of the fact that they were acting sanely-- if you count that as sane_ _.'_

_Sane._

He's not so sure what's the definition of 'sane' anymore.

Held almost thought that Levia's alternate self was female, given that Behemo wore a dress when he was treated by Michaela and Levia in that abandoned hospital. It also came across as a shock when just a few weeks ago, Levia was fixated on ending Behemo, but after bringing him into this universe she pleaded for his life, hysterically panicking when he started bleeding from his nose and ears.

In a short moment, he was the dearest, most important person to her.

The professor sat back down onto his seat and ran a hand through his green hair, sighing.

* * *

 

 

“This isn't your age of tea and crumpets,” Levia began.

“...there weren't any tea and crumpets back where I was anyways,” Behemo cut off, but Levia continued.

“...so for starters, no one here has a last name. Even if they do, they take it from the parent that they're born from, either mother or father. Whichever rolls off your tongue best.”

The neurologist held her counterpart's hand, never letting go as they walked past a few more doors to enter a room with Levia's name on it, as well as her field. Behemo never bothered to look-- he'll look at it later, because he's got a very strong feeling that he'll be seeing it a lot from then on. The elder twin unlocked the door to her office, opened it, and felt the instant pang of shame hammering in her stomach.

Her office was terribly untidy-- no, that was an understatement. Her office had clothes all over the place-- coats on the table, coats on the chair and the occasional underwear on the sofa. Piles of theses and papers were stacked together on the tables and floors as if it was a lawyer's office, and beakers of unfinished experiments stayed stale in room temperature, covered with papers wrapped with rubber bands to seal them.

“Oh god, I'm sorry-- I'll clean this up in a second…!” Levia gasped, hurriedly trying to gather whatever she could to stuff them in any empty compartment she could think of.

Embarrassing.

“How do you work in here?” Behemo asked light-heartedly, trying not to embarrass Levia even further. Really, her office is incredible-- the busiest people tend to be the least neat. He looked at the walls-- there's a bit of art here and there, so maybe that was the only redeeming factor of the trashy office.

“S-Shut up!” Levia retorted, eventually giving up on her futile attempts. She spotted an amused grin on Behemo's face, making her hiss a bit. “You're not exactly neat either, the last time I remembered!”

“No,” Behemo said, trying to be cockily ignorant. “I'm the epitome of neatness.”

“You keep that up, and you won't get your own office,” she grumbled, throwing a coat aside.

“My own office?” Behemo asked, perplexed. He's never even thought of getting his own office in the laboratories-- in fact, he was almost hoping that he could go back. But even if he went back, it would be a lot worse, but then again, he couldn't see himself working here. He really couldn't.

And Levia looked as surprised as he is.

“Yes, your own office. You'll be working here...if you don't mind?” Her voice sounded as if she was daring him to contradict her, but he wasn't in the mood to be intimidated by her seemingly domineering front at that moment.

“I can't...see myself working here,” Behemo admitted.

“Why not?”

“I never thought of working here in the first place, not in my life,” he said uncomfortably. “Or in any form of... _institution._ ”

Levia could hear him cringing at that last word, and she was almost dismayed herself. If he works elsewhere when he stays here, she won't get to protect him or monitor him-- she knows that it sounds incredibly overprotective and territorial, but she absolutely couldn't take her sights off him. Not at the current moment. Not even later.

But she really ought to stop being so demanding. She's demanded him enough. She brought him into her world and patched him up because she was lonely and she loved him.

“...I'm sorry,” Behemo's voice came.

“It's okay,” Levia quietly said. “I shouldn't force you.” She shouldn't have opened her mouth in the first place. What a stupid girl she was.

Just because he's her parallel self, that doesn't mean that they have to share the same interests.

She should've known.

It wasn't the fact that he wasn't much of a scientist that upset her-- that would be incredibly awful and hypocritical. It was the fact that Levia finally realized how much _she_ had imposed on _him,_ rather than him imposing on her. It was the fact that she was the one who almost got them killed in the hospital, and it was the fact that if she hadn't went through the mirror in the first place, they would've been fine, even if Malice was running rampant.

She was forcing things on him and she felt so horrible.

“I mean,” she heard him speak again, “I can do desk jobs here and there. Maybe I can be a receptionist here if you'd like, but I don't think that I'm cut out for anything science at the moment.”

“O-Of course.”

“See you around then,” he said, and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Levia looked at her messes and wished that she could shoot herself in the head.

 


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

* * *

 

_3:15 PM, MARCH 14 XXXX_

“Madame Levia-- it's not that bad! He's just shocked, that's all…!”

“He hates me. That's it. He hates me and he'll always hate me and I'll dig myself a hole to bury myself in.”

Michaela was very well known to be a very good source of comfort to her circle of friends and to outsiders alike, but in this case, Levia was utterly inconsolable. She ought to be thankful that Levia wasn't being hysterical as she always was when things displeased or upset her, but she also deemed Levia's melancholy self-degradation even worse. The white-haired aide gently nudged some tea (to which she forgot the flavor) towards Levia's direction, and the young madame side-eyed it, taking it hesitantly before taking a sharp sip.

It was burning hot, like her _problems_.

“I should've known,” Levia murmured, putting the tea aside as she moodily lamented her state of affairs. “I was too greedy-- I should've expected that we wouldn't share _everything_ in common!”

Michaela twirled a lock of her white hair. “Well...have you tried asking him what he'd like to do?” she suggested mildly.

“He wouldn't know what he'd want to do anyways,” Levia returned.

“How do you know?” the aide asked, gasping.

“Because I'd react the same way!”

“Why would he?”

Levia was about to retort back, but she remembered that Michaela didn't know who exactly Behemo was. The white-haired aide was merely called to treat a hemorrhaging young man in a critical condition, so there wasn't much that Michaela knew about Behemo in detail.

So she slumped back into her sofa and groaned.

“Why would he?” Levia repeated. “Good point.”

“Try opening up to him!” the aide cheerily offered, wiping a table while organizing Levia's chemicals, deeming the office spic and span. “The basis of getting along is conversation, so I think you should give it a try the next time you see him.”

“Thank you, Michaela. That helps a lot,” she sardonically said.

“You're welcome!” Michaela brightly returned, not getting at the irritated tones at all.

It wasn't just her incessant worrying about maintaining a good relationship with Behemo that bothered her-- it was also the fact that Seth would be arriving any time soon (or maybe he arrived from his trip early) that made her on edge. He'd know-- he'd see Behemo, and he's certainly not stupid. Four eyes are always better than two, and being from the Mask race, she knew better than to undermine his capabilities and his intelligence. She had to acknowledge them begrudgingly, as Held did.

“Or maybe he's like that because he's a rich boy?” the white-haired aide pondered out loud, sitting down beside Levia. “Rich people tend to be more disagreeable...”

“Why would a rich boy want to work as a _receptionist_...?” Levia groaned. She gloomily looked over at her phone, only to find that it was on silent all along and that there was one new message from none other than Gumillia.

'there's an intruder trying to go into your room.'

* * *

 

“I informed her,” a stone-faced raven-haired scientist said. “All that's left is for her to come over.”

“Hey, you crazy woman-- I just came out from this room a few hours ago!” Behemo protested.

“I'm sure you did.”

“So just ignore me as I go in to take a nap!”

“It's not your room.”

Absolutely great. What luck. Behemo rolled his eyes and pointed at the doorknob as if it was a piece of evidence in a kangaroo court. “Look here, she gave me the key to this room. I get to go in and out whenever I want, and this isn't your room either, so you're in no position to argue with me!”

“For all we know, you could've stolen the key from her,” Gumillia-- as her nametag said-- solemnly said. “If you are proven to be false, I can send you to the authorities for trespassing.”

“Gumillia! Where's the intruder?” a girlish voice came from the other end of the hallway, prompting both Behemo and Gumillia to turn towards the direction. Levia and Michaela walked up to them-- Michaela looked completely clueless with her head looking here and there, and Levia was merely amused, smiling to herself at the funny predicament.

“Here,” Gumillia said, pointing at Behemo. “He should be stopped. Sent to court. Receive the mandatory punishment for trespassing in private property, or breaking in.”

“Hey, if you don't watch your mouth…!” Behemo started, then turned to Levia and pointed at Gumillia. “I came out from this room earlier-- tell her!”

Levia raised an eyebrow and pretended to look dumb.

“You did?”

“What--?!” Behemo was in disbelief. “I-I did!”

“I didn't know you came out from here-- maybe you are an intruder after all!” Levia chirped, looking at Gumillia. “Millia, can you lock up this bad man for me?”

Really, she couldn't help but laugh at Behemo's expression. It was like a mixture of disbelief and mortification at the same time. The better part was that Gumillia thought that Levia was completely serious, so she pulled Behemo's arms behind him and held his wrists firmly with her hands.

“Let's go,” she said chillingly.

“Levia-- hey, Levia!” Behemo exclaimed. “L-Liar! You liar! Agh!”

“No!” Michaela cried out. “Madame Levia, you're not serious!”

“Madame Levia looks serious to me,” Gumillia insisted, pulling Behemo. “Come along.”

“I-I'll vouch for him!” came a small voice.

Amidst the joke was a young girl with long pink hair tied up in a low ponytail, having her hands clasped close to her chest as if she was in perpetual prayer, looking worried. Her yellow dress indicated that she was of high birth, but she looked so small and frail that it didn't seem out of place for her to be in the laboratories. What was out of place though, was the fact that she was in the building of the private quarters.

“Irene,” Levia laughed, “you don't even know that this is a joke!”

“E-Even so! It's not nice!”

Gumillia released her hold on Behemo's wrists, earning a dissatisfied scowl from the young man. He found his arm being held onto by Levia fairly quick, and she leaned against him as she smiled at the little girl. She shouldn't even be older than 14, in Behemo's opinion, especially when she looks so petite.

“Madame L-Levia,” Irene staunchly said, “he doesn't look like a bad man!”

“Oho? And how can you conclude that?” the young madame asked, causing Behemo to laugh a bit.

“He's a gentleman! He looks like one!”

“Behemo,” Levia smiled, gesturing to Gumillia, Michaela and Irene, introducing them to him. “That's Gumillia over there, Professor of Nuclear Science. That's Michaela, my personal aide. This little lady is Irene, the daughter of one of our patrons as well as a very valuable temporary asset to Medel Laboratories.”

“I don't think I like Gumillia very much,” Behemo said bluntly.

“I don't think there's any problem with that,” Gumillia nodded. “I don't like you very much either.”

“Whether you like him or not,” Levia said, huffing, “he's under my care. My little brother,” she proudly added. “So take care of him and show him good manners and love, and always watch him when I'm not around--”

“I'm not a child!” Behemo exclaimed childishly.

“Listen to your big sister,” Levia cooed.

The confused Irene sought refuge near Michaela and Gumillia, holding their hands as she looked at how alike the two of them were. Identical twins! She's never seen a pair of twins so identical before, and Irene was completely fascinated. So she decides to go up to Behemo and extend her hands, showing her empty palms to him as she grinned.

“I will foresee the future,” she said solemnly.

Behemo looked at her palms. “What...will the future hold?”

“...You'll have to go buy me ice cream,” she cheekily said.

“You heard the prophet,” Levia laughed, holding Irene's hand while holding onto Behemo's arm. “You'll buy ice cream for the both of us-- let's go!”

“No, I-- I need sleep, goddammit…!”

Like a very out-of-place happy family, with the mother dragging the grumpy father and the little daughter running way too in front, encouraging the entire spectacle, the three made their way past the aide and the professor, who merely watched them in silence. Michaela broke the silence by laughing softly to herself before looking at Gumillia's apathetic expression.

“Madame Levia's very happy, don't you think?” Michaela asked.

That's exactly what surprised Gumillia. Levia was known to be loud and quite over-the-top, but like everyone Levia had met up with, she couldn't help but agree that Levia was happy. Around that rash young man, Levia smiled the most, laughed the most and even preferred his company over anyone else. It wasn't that Gumillia was sore about it, but it was something like an impossible thing had happened, and it was still quite hard to stomach.

“She is,” Gumillia managed.

“He wasn't in very good shape at first,” Michaela laughed. “Bleeding from his mouth, ears, nose-- any opening you can name of! Madame Levia and I tried to fix him up and he's as good as new right now, and she's really, really happy.”

“Where did he come from?” the raven-haired professor asked.

“Come to think of it, I don't really know,” Michaela shrugged. “He seems very old-fashioned to me.”

“Maybe he'll be a toy. A piece of entertainment. Sometimes, the old things hold a lot of fascination and sentiment,” Gumillia surmised, looking at her phone. “I heard that Professor Seth has acquired a new body from one of the murder victims in Hammond Bar.”

The white-haired aide instantly looked uncomfortable. “Why would he tell these things to you…? And...why are you telling me?”

“Because we are colleagues, and because we are friends,” Gumillia answered, making sure that Michaela understood that she was answering the two questions in order. “It's not uncommon. The Mask race is well-known for that, aren't they?”

“But that's...that's horrible and unethical,” the aide pointed out, slowly putting her hands in her pockets.

“It's what's going on. It's as bad as the haze and global warming, but it's what's going on.”

“Aren't you afraid that I'll tell people about it?” Michaela pressed on, but Gumillia shrugged and tied her long black hair.

“Do as you like. Don't blame me if you end up in the morgue. After all, there is no life after death here.”

With Gumillia's last words for the day, Michaela could only stare as the professor walked away, and she could've sworn that she felt the telltale signs of terrified tears in her eyes.

 


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

* * *

_4:20 PM, MARCH 14 XXXX_

The young gentleman- as the little girl called him- had to wonder whether this was his true calling. He had to wonder whether this was meant for him, whether this day had been predetermined since the day of his birth. He had to wonder whether it was fate for him to do this, to be with them…

...to buy his alternate self and some kid two cones of ice cream from a vendor who could barely understand him.

Apparently, the way he spoke seemed ancient, archaic. The ice cream seller ended up straining her ears as he tried to say the flavors and none of them were liking the predicament they were in.

He repeated: "One pistachio, one rocky road and one chocolate chip cookie dough."

She looked as if she wanted to punch him in the face and stayed silent, forking out her scoop and taking three cones, piling them up with perfectly round scoops of the same flavor.

Rocky road. Levia's favourite.

At least she heard _that_ one right.

Seeing as there's no other flavors, he reluctantly bought them and went back to the park bench where Levia and Irene were waiting expectantly, only to be the bearer of bad news. Gold eyes and blue eyes that were so alike his own stared at him, only for one face to fall and one face to beam as they noticed the colour of their respective ice creams.

"They don't sell them," Behemo admitted, handing two cones to a very disappointed 14-year old and a very excited scientist. "Levia wins."

"It's too hard for my teeth!" Irene whined.

"Oh, get used to it," Levia whistled, licking her ice cream as Behemo sat right beside Irene, causing the youngest of the three to be sandwiched between two counterparts. Irene audibly huffed like a seven-year old who didn't get what she wanted, taking a big mouthful of her ice cream while letting out the most high-pitched whine Behemo's ever heard. Even with her mouth closed, it could've been the brain freeze that made Irene's teeth tingle and shiver with mild pain, and she was so upset to even bother wiping her mouth.

"The weather's nice," Behemo managed to say, as if he's trying to make the atmosphere at least a little better and less disagreeable. The evening was already at a bad start because of the ice cream, but it didn't hurt to try and make things a little better.

"It is," Levia agreed, biting off a piece of her cone. "I mean, the park's at its nicest during the evening."

"Daddy's thinking of putting extra security around me," Irene piped up. "A lot of people died in a bar, so daddy doesn't want anything to happen to me in crowded places. That's what he said about the newspaper while I was busy reading the funnies."

Both 'siblings' visibly paled.

"I didn't get to read the paper today, Irene," Levia managed. "What else did your daddy say?"

"I don't remember," she said, licking her ice cream.

"Must've been awful, those people who killed all of them," Behemo said off-handedly, as if he didn't really think much of how awful it was as he said.

Irene nodded her head. "People shouldn't kill people in the first place. Their families will be sad," she added in that girlish voice of hers.

"Of course," the young man agreed nonchalantly.

It was at this point that Levia had remembered what Behemo was all about in her own perspective. She looked down at her half-finished cone of ice cream, wondering how would things turn out if she had just stabbed him through the mirror. If she had went along with what Seth suggested, what would have happened? Was the Ark Project that important to everyone- the quest for a new world if they couldn't cure Malice- to the point where they'd kill to get a spot?

The horrifying fact was that she'd do exactly  _that_  to secure a spot.

She reacted horribly to any mention of murder after being aware of what she heard or what she did, but she noticed that Behemo treats it as if it's passing news. Even when she saw his terror when she first reached out to him, it was as if everything was premeditated, planned out.

Levia repelled Malice as much as she could, but Behemo embraced it without a word.

Even the way she had killed those in Hammond's were swift and precise- Behemo employed all sorts of morbid methods, sticking his cane into the victims' throats and so on. He was calm in the face of every form of morbidity. The way he calmly spoke to her as he washed bodily fluids from the weapon he had at Hammond's almost scared her right afterward- obviously it was a late reaction, but she justified the situation as far more intense than her fears.

As much as he  _is_  her, he is not  _like_ her.

Surely she won't be as hypocritical as to make him  _be_  like her?

"-no, I haven't gotten my ID yet," Behemo's voice came, cutting Levia's thoughts off. He looked rather worried at the fact. "I'll try to ask if there's a home ministry around, or an immigration."

Oh,  _right._

His identification documents!

* * *

_6:17 PM, MARCH 14 XXXX_

The home ministry of the city of Gudonechia was advanced, heavily guarded and white-washed to the bargain.

It wasn't empty even though it was already past 6- there were people (new arrivals, Levia presumed) sitting at the various countered departments in each glass-walled room. The lobby had people filling up forms and lawyers helping out those who didn't know the language. The audible clicks of dress shoes and heels against the floor didn't help in calming the unprofessional heart, but Behemo didn't need to worry so much about that because Levia already had the forms in her hands.

Irene fumbled with her ID card, wondering what was so special about it in the entirety of the city.

"Form 145A, form 145B and form 145I would be the usual forms for identification. You'll be expecting an identification card, a birth certificate, proof of citizenship papers and the standard issue slop," Levia droned, passing them to Behemo.

He skimmed through Form 145A in two seconds, as expected of a wealthy man's son.

"Address?" Behemo asked.

"Put mine."

"Phone number?"

"Medel's telephone number. They'll think you're staff, which you  _will_  be….right?" Levia asked tentatively. Behemo only rolled his eyes and chuckled.

"Mother and father?"

"Mine."

Behemo looked over at her, surprised. "We're actually going to be brother and sister on paper?"

Again, she was afraid that she had crossed a line. "You don't want-"

"Splendid! I'll fill out the rest, thank you," Behemo cut her off, beaming. Levia's pleasant surprise over Behemo being equally excited over that quickly took over her initial anxieties, but before she could even return his smile with a smile of her own, she found that he sauntered over to a desk, sitting straight at the chair while he filled his forms.

He's a leftie.

"Irene, don't go off anywhere, okay?" Levia reminded the young girl holding her hand, and to her surprise, Irene didn't even budge. Her golden eyes were fixated on the TV screen, where a pink-haired newscaster said the following:

_'Police are still investigating the cause of the massacre in Hammond Bar- a corpse had been missing from the forensic department. The corpse has been identified as Aginecourt, a high school student studying in Pipillian High School. If you have any information, do give your local police department a call, and confidentiality is guaranteed.'_

The scientist frowned. "They're still going on about that?"

Irene nodded. "Still going on about it. Pipillian's right next to my school."

"Are you scared?" Levia asked, sitting down at one of the waiting areas as Irene took the seat beside her while taking out her hand-held game console and started playing some princess game.

"I am, but I have people to take care of me!" Irene laughed.

"If you don't?" the blonde asked, clearly not meaning to scare or intimidate the younger girl, but the question was more of something born out of curiosity. Irene looked down and bit her lower lip, shaking her legs to and fro. Her shoes looked new- probably her father had bought them for her today.

"Then I'll get more scared," she admitted.

Levia frowned- the world is a dangerous place, she knew. Ever since she was a girl in college, being towered over by all those youths and old professors did nothing to soothe her issues. She was only six and her parents encouraged her to go- a prodigy in the family, they said, but it was as if she got kicked out of the house prematurely.

She had no place to go. Her dorm was like a box for her, the books were like a distraction and her classmates didn't like talking to _kids_. Levia had to feed herself, dress herself and find sources of entertainment that was neither dangerous nor morale-degrading. And when she finally graduated, the world seemed emptier because no one was there for her.

Obviously, she couldn't tell Irene to suck it up. That would be cruel, even if life was cruel to her.

"Hey, what's taking Mr. Behemo so long?" Irene piped up, causing Levia to realize that the younger girl must have been counting the minutes. In her reverie of thinking about her dreary college days, ten minutes had passed, which was quite long for an average person to get everything processed. When there are machines, the time's cut by a lot.

"He must've gotten lost," Levia said, looking around from her seat. The throng of people lessened as they got their documents in less than five minutes after filling in their forms, so she decided to get up and hold Irene's hand again, walking around to find him. She passed a few departments to find the Registration Department, only to find that Behemo was still there.

With a girl.

With  _Aginecourt_ , to be exact. But her face looked a little different than Aginecourt's. Her features were softer and her hair was brown, and she was laughing and smiling, trying to get Behemo to laugh with her.

Behemo wasn't smiling. If anything, he looked completely confused.

Levia steeled herself and walked right into the department, only to have Aginecourt look at her with the same airy smile. The smile changed in a few seconds- it was a knowing smile, a smile that she was bound to recognize anywhere. Behemo looked at Levia as if to inquire who on earth the girl was, but Levia's fears were confirmed from the words that escaped Aginecourt's lips.

"Oh, Levia,"  _'she'_ smiled. "I was just talking to Behemo right here. Pleasant young man, isn't he? I believe I should get moving though- I've just returned from the airport and I'm so tired."

Levia felt her muscles tense up as she forced a reply.

"Yes. It's...good that you're back,  _Seth._ "

Seth smiled, inclined a small bow of his head and walked out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, there's a tumblr for the fanfiction already. It's 'theirphonograph'. Please stay tuned for character commentaries and spoilers.


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

* * *

_7:21 AM, MARCH 15 XXXX_

Dr. Gumillia prepared her morning coffee and shuddered as the cold air casually blew into the room through her open window.

Gudonechia, ten, ten, ten, ten, brackets forty. That's how they've always read the year. Next year would be something else- if next year bothers to come.

The body of the late Aginecourt was safely stored in her private laboratory upon Seth's request under life support, given that Seth's consciousness had given the girl a bit of vitality suitable enough for it. Seth's been busy lately, she figured, given that Behemo had suddenly appeared out of nowhere and with Levia suddenly giving him all of her support. Obviously, something's up. It's hard to believe that Behemo and Levia are related at all given that he had just appeared even with a 'long lost twin' story, but it's also not so hard to believe that they're tied by blood. They look so identical.

"How do you like your coffee?" Gumillia called out, stirring hers with milk. Her voice echoed throughout the apartment, only for a weaker, more masculine voice to reply back.

"With nothing in it," it called back.

She tossed in some coffee powder in a white mug, dispensed hot water, stirred, and put it on the table.

It's not the first time that she's allowed Seth to be housed in her apartment. There was nothing between them asides from mutual agreements and logical reasoning in both of their questionable actions. But in this case, which was not like the other cases that she's done and known, Seth had become a little more pro active. She's done nothing but bicker with the younger blond twin- Seth had returned from his trip early just to see him in the flesh.

Seth told her that he's more different than he had expected. He was a child of Malice, and yet there's a strange heroic air about him. An old man's air around a young man indeed. He talks about Behemo as if he's some sort of scientific anomaly that he's very much interested in, but it's the first time that Gumillia's ever seen such vested interest through actions.

Who _is_  this little boy?

"Thinking about last night's discussion," Seth smiled over at her, walking over to her at the dining table as he wiped his glasses, not wearing them just yet. His brown hair wasn't combed yet- she figured that he didn't bother. "That's so very like you, Gumillia."

"That's very rude, trying to pry into my thoughts like that," she said, looking at him without returning the smile.

"We both know I can't do that," he easily shrugged, taking the mug and drinking the coffee from it.

"Thinking about the boy?" Gumillia asked, sitting down while reading the front headlines. Looks like they haven't forgotten about the heist of Aginecourt's body.

"The boy, yes," Seth smiled, wearing his glasses. "Levia's brother."

"You really think he's Madame Levia's brother?" Gumillia asked, looking aghast.

"Well, why not?" he replied, looking surprised. "They look the same. They're twins. Levia said so herself. There's no reason to distrust her."

"So even  _you_  believe in that story," the raven-haired scientist mulled to herself audibly.

"If everyone believes, it's no longer a story, it's fact," he smiled.

"It's even more absurd that Madame Levia's mother gave birth to an extra child and gave him away because her eldest daughter's a more worthy investment," Gumillia pointed out, still extremely skeptical as she finished her cup of coffee. She decided not to make another.

"Now, now, that's not very nice," Seth chuckled, gesturing for the female scientist to hand him the paper, which she did. She slid the paper to him on the table, and he leafed through a few pages. "Although, I must say, that makes it seem that you think he's a dimwit."

"I don't like the boy, I don't know where he's from, I don't know how he got here, so he's obviously a threat," she staunchly said.

Seth quickly read the back for the winning lottery numbers, then closed up the paper. "A threat to  _what_  exactly, Gumillia?"

"I don't know," she grumbled slightly. "Anything he gets his hands on, I should think. If he's a child of Malice, he must be stopped. Institutionalized. Put down. Lobotomized."

"Gumillia," Seth began in coaxing tones, but she turned at him.

"Have you forgotten that Malice is  _serious?!_ "

"Gumillia."

He knows that saying her name might hardly help, but she irritably looks away and keeps her peace for a few seconds. It's hypocritical, she thinks, because Levia too is considered a child of Malice under wraps. Held knows. Gumillia knows. Seth knows. And this boy, this impudent boy whom Levia's taken an increasing fondness and affection for might be her very destruction.

"...I don't like the boy," Gumillia repeated, her arms folded and her mouth twisted into a frown. "He'll harm Madame Levia."

"I don't see the possibility."

"Why don't you?" she asked, a little angered yet curious.

Seth adjusted his glasses. "They're twins. They won't harm each other."

She looked at him as if he'd gone naive. "Siblings  _do_  kill each other."

"But not  _twins._ "

* * *

"He's bad news," Levia said, helping Behemo straighten his necktie like some stock sitcom television housewife.

"But I can't be hostile towards him if I'm to work with him," Behemo pointed out. "And isn't he...well, if I remember correctly, I spoke to a  _girl_  yesterday."

"I think I forgot to tell you that the Mask race of this here universe changes bodies at their convenience," she absentmindedly said, finishing up with Behemo's blue necktie while she smoothed out the telltale signs of faint creases at his blazer. "Tsk. I told the dry cleaners to be careful with this one."

Behemo couldn't help but chuckle. "You don't need to send this to a dry cleaner, you know."

"Excuse you," Levia hissed, putting on her cream colored coat. "Your suit was very expensive, so I plan to make it as good as new every time. I'm not an expert in laundry."

"My sister, the one who messes up the colors while doing the laundry," he teased, looking at his reflection at Levia's vanity mirror. They looked so identical together- it's no wonder that people ended up believing that they were twins in the first place. Levia smiled at her reflection, clinging onto her counterpart's arm as if she belonged there.

"My brother, the one who has to be dressed up by his very smart and fashionable elder sister," she returned, whistling.

"My fashion sense is impeccable, thank you," he pointed out. "And I'd appreciate a room of my own, thank you. Sleeping in here, even if it's on the couch, might get people talking."

"Oh, they'll get used to it. The last time I remember you wearing clothes of your own, it's a black dress for what, mourning?" Levia jabbed, then realized the heaviness of her words. "I mean..."

"It's not," he answered coolly. "It's the dress of a maid, without the aprons."

"If I may," she asked softly, "can I know why you were wearing it?"

"A passing fancy," he smiled tensely, trying to pass it off as something trivial. "But I don't think I'll be wearing dresses anytime soon here."

"Why not? No one will judge you," Levia said, standing up.

He gave an easy grin- a trait of his boyishness. "It's a new life for me. I'm not going to jinx it."

"Excellent," Levia grinned back, looking through her bag to give him an orange plastic box of pills. "This will help you a bit to adapt with the universal travel. You might still feel a bit disoriented if you don't take these every day, mainly because your sense of being still doesn't really belong."

Behemo eyed the box. "...Medicine?"

"Supplements," Levia said. "I take them too," she added, showing her own box of pills. "In the event that I forget mine, I'll take yours, and if you forget yours, you can take mine."

"Now Levia," Behemo crossed his arms, still being a little suspicious (because who wouldn't?), "how can you convince me that you're not giving me a healthy dose of addictive drugs?"

"Don't you trust me, brother mine?" she asked, giving him her best pout.

"Not at all, sister dear," he smiled.

To his amazement and his amusement, Levia audibly groaned in irritation, looking as if her blood was boiling in her veins at being rejected. He's gotten used to it ever since her triumphant entrance to see Professor Held, so he merely kept his smile and gave her back the box of pills.

"You'll need this," Behemo joked.

"Ugh," she said, grabbing her handbag and keys while walking out of the room.

He walked out with her as she locked the door to her room, making her way through a bridge from the specialists' quarters to the main laboratory building. People of all ranks and ages bowed when Levia passed by, to which she barely even acknowledged them- in fact, she actually reveled in the attention she was attracting. Behemo merely walked beside her as he let his cane bring him forward every step.

This world is still very new to him.

For example, he had read in the home ministry that Gudonechia is a  _city_ , when back in his universe, Gudonechia was the name of the planet. In his universe, the city of Utopos was where he resided, when over here, Utopos was the name of the planet. He was taking everything in fairly well, or rather, he convinced himself that he was doing fine with only Levia as someone he could trust.

Even so, he didn't trust her fully. He couldn't. It was only natural.

The bridge from the specialists' quarters to the main laboratory building was as glassy as both buildings. The walls were made of glass, the floor was made of tempered glass, and right beneath them, cars and pedestrians made their way to their respective destinations. It was a marvel- the future never looked so advanced before, not even in his wildest imaginations. Doctors, nurses, scientists and aides walked to and fro through the bridge, and Levia was looking at her phone all the while she walked.

He should get one sometime soon.

Behemo hears a few muted greetings:  _"Good morning, Dr. Levia." "How are you doing today, Dr. Levia?" "Is that your brother, Dr. Levia? Hello there, doctor."_  Levia smiled, answered and passed by each greeter expertly as if this sort of thing had happened before, many, many times. It almost made him feel like an overlooked child, but Behemo had to remind himself that he didn't belong here in the first place. There's no need to be so sore about it.

Levia, on the other hand, was determined to make him fit in. She always introduced him whenever she had the chance, eager to get people's approval of him at first impression. It was easy for them to instantly like him- not just because he's the twin brother of the former child genius, but because of how gentlemanly he looked. "He'll be a promising one," one scientist smiled, as if she was looking at him like some sort of successful experiment.

"Oh, I know," Levia answered to that, all smiles. "He's amazing."

The scientist smiled back and left, prompting Behemo to loosen up at once. Levia whistled as she looked at Behemo, seemingly proud. "They like you."

"They won't, once they find out that I have nothing to my name," he bluntly said.

"You'll learn," Levia encouraged, holding onto his arm as her phone rang. She looked at the message, loosened her hold on his arm, then tightened it almost immediately. He could tell that something was instantly up.

"...What is it?" he asked, trying to peer over at her phone. She quickly put it away.

"...They want me to bring you to the main board room," Levia slowly said.

"Who?" he asked again, sensing Levia's nervousness.

"All the head scientists. They want to see you."


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

* * *

_10:32 AM, MARCH 15 XXXX_

The faces of Medel Laboratories stared hard at the face of Dr. Levia's younger fraternal twin brother.

The head of the laboratories was not present, and neither did anyone do anything to assume their place. The long table merely had its sides occupied with people seated at two neat lines across each other, and as soon as the door was slid open, their attentions were solely focused on the company's alleged newcomer. Welcome or not, he didn't enter through standard protocol, so this wasn't just an interview of formality, it was something far worse.

It seemed like an interrogation.

A scientist, to be specific, Dr. Asmodeus of the Department of Photon Sciences, decided to be the first to greet the young boy without budging from his seat, seeing that everyone was eying him like how eagles would eye a single rat.

"It seems that you got the message!" Asmodeus laughed- Levia could tell that he was nervous. "Good morning, Dr. Levia, Mr. Behemo."

It was Behemo who answered, with a simple bow of his head and a "Good morning, sir."

Obviously, he was far from welcome at a first impression.

From Gumillia's point of view, it was a sight that she utterly hated. She was among the men and women in white, and that boy stuck out like a sore thumb in all black, save for his necktie. His cane made him seem like he was a young invalid, but he was standing straight as if the atmosphere didn't bother him at all and as if he really couldn't care less if they started shouting at him.

 _His arrogance would kill him one day_ , she thought to herself. And right now, he deserved his arrogance- they, regrettably, need him.

But anyone's opinion be damned, Behemo noticed that it wasn't just the presence of scientists that filled the room, but he saw white-coated policemen- two of them- standing at two ends of the room, watching him. He didn't know why he suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable- maybe it's because of a psychological effect of being watched by higher authorities, but he just couldn't put his finger on what exactly made him so anxious about them.

Levia must've noticed his anxiety- she held his hand. Behemo didn't pull away, because everything be damned, he needed the reassurance.

"You didn't tell me that there was going to be the police involved," Levia said, looking at the man whom she had described to Behemo as Seth. Brown hair, glasses.

"On the contrary,  _we're_ the ones who need your brother's help," Seth calmly said. "Am I correct, officers? Or is he in the same boat as us?"

"Let's say he brought all of you into this mess," one white-coated policeman said, walking up to Behemo. "Well, Mr. Behemo-"

Behemo had to look at the policeman right in the eye. "Yes, sir?"

He's not afraid of the police,  _of course not._

"Have you heard of the revised Universal Immigration Act XX (20)?" the red-haired policeman asked, scrutinizing Behemo as he towered over the youth, being much taller than him.

"Why no, sir. Haven't heard of it. I just registered myself here last night," Behemo smartly said. Being smart, he'd read somewhere, calms the nerves, but it never gets you in a better situation.

"By right, I shouldn't blame you for that," the policeman smiled- it wasn't a very nice one, "but your registration says that you work for Medel, so you're rather exempt from being a normal clueless civilian. You're working here as a scientist, so you should know this basic law."

Levia instantly rose to the defense of her counterpart. "You can't blame him for not knowing this on his first day-!"

"Who even said that we were going to take him in as staff?" Gumillia said, and both Levia and Behemo turned to see that her arms were bound behind her chair. Every scientist's arms were behind their backrests, bound with technologically advanced chains.

Slowly, Behemo turned to look at the policeman who addressed him. "You're not accusing me for  _that._ "

"Surely not. Do you know a man named Zorach?"

"Zorach?" a blue-haired scientist said- upon reading his nametag, his name was apparently Mammon. "You mean that scientist who disappeared?"

"I wasn't asking you," the policeman calmly said, as his colleague pressed a button and as soon as he said that, Mammon shook in his chair, giving a sharp gasp as he gathered his bearings. Electric shocks. "Now, back to what I was asking, do you know such a man, Mr. Behemo?"

The name did sound familiar, but everything seemed hazy. Levia's eyes were on him. Their eyes were on him. The policeman's eyes were on Behemo, and he carefully said "No."

"Really now?" the policeman prompted, looking over at the tied-up scientists.

"I've no business with you, or this Zorach man," Behemo firmly said, well, as firm as he could. "Let them go. You've hoisted them on me and made them my responsibility, to which you really shouldn't."

"Then how would you explain your sudden appearance here in Gudonechia?"

"That is out of the question- you're interrogating him!" Levia protested, but at the press of a button, someone got shocked. A pained gasp came from someone- it was Seth, causing Gumillia to turn from where she sat to see if he was alright. He obviously wasn't, and he tried to stop shuddering.

"I don't really like getting in trouble with the law today," Seth weakly said, trying to hold his head up after getting shocked. "So Mr. Behemo, do tell him. Please."

Behemo didn't even look at Seth- he couldn't look at anything at all. All he saw was the sadistic smile of the policeman interrogating him with Medel's greatest minds being held hostage, all he felt was the tight hold of Levia's hands on his left arm, but he really couldn't put a finger on who this Zorach person is. It's more important than his supposed illegal entry, but he absolutely doesn't know who this Zorach person is.

And even if he knew, he had a strong feeling not to rat this Zorach person out to them.

"Let's make it easier," the red-haired policeman smiled, showing two fingers. "You have a choice. Tell us how you got here, or tell us where Zorach is. It's so simple. The former might, well, not give you an advantage, but the latter certainly will. But you're free for a helping."

"Behemo," Levia softly said, seemingly as scared as the rest, "tell him. Please."

Well, what's presented before him were two options.

Option 1: Tell the policeman where this Zorach person is, to which he doesn't know who he is, or option 2: tell them how he got here, which would get Medel in trouble. Actually, both ways, he'll get Medel into trouble anyways. He's obviously broken some law he didn't know- or maybe Levia did, but that didn't matter. He doesn't know if these policemen are real or fake, but judging from the reactions of many, they should be actual policemen.

Choose wrongly, and they'll be shocked to death.

In such a case, always take a third option.

"Yes, sure, of course, officer," Behemo fake-coughed, looking at Levia as he held out a hand. "Kindly...ah, my medicine, Levia. I'm much too worked up. The orange case."

Levia looked at him as if he was talking gobbledygook.

"My medicine, please," Behemo repeated.

She slowly rummaged in her bag to give him the pills that she had offered to him earlier that morning, and Behemo took them, looking around the room. Security cameras at each corner and a telephone at the middle of the meeting table.

Two policemen, many departmental heads, and Levia.

"Both of you, yes, gentlemen, to my office. Let's have a talk there. I insist," Behemo smiled genially, gesturing towards the glass door. He walked out of the room, having the two policemen follow, but at Levia wanting to follow as well, he shook his head and made sure that she stayed in the board room.

Silence.

Everyone but Levia didn't know that he didn't even have an office, much less a room.

* * *

The Royal Police Force of Utopos is something akin to a world police.

It was stated as a fact in several business studies textbooks and business-oriented online newspapers that the RPFU (as abbreviated) is by far, the largest globally public provider of job vacancies. 'Serving The People Through Advancement' is the RPFU's motto, and they have a database that contains all of their registered employees as well as the profiles of almost everyone in Utopos. It's a ridiculously absurd notion for there to be a global police that monitors almost everybody, but it's true in this here world.

There's far more absurd things, of course.

The drawback was that Behemo knew  _nothing_ of the above information.

Everyone is afraid of the police, that's sure. The police arrest you when you're found guilty of something, but there's even more reason to be very afraid of this particular police force. Medel is only a tiny establishment compared to this global protectorate of a police force, but not only do they arrest you when they deem you guilty or if they find you as a suspect, their courtrooms operate solely on juries who are extremely compliant to the police to avoid being one of the unlucky ones at the defense stand.

There are so many reasons to quake at the rumored violence and power the police force hold, but Behemo knew zilch. Nothing. Absolute zero. He walked along the halls, passing by numerous offices as the tap of his cane went  _tap, tap, tap_  on the floor, just right in time with his dress shoes going  _clack, clack, clack._

When he was a young boy of 12, he's been told that he was a very good, if not dreadful, distraction.

 _In this case_ , he thought bitterly,  _I'm not wearing a puffy, ribbon-loaded dress that costs 1000 tarils._

He thinks about his past, remembering nothing about this Zorach fellow. He walks, going into his office as the policemen complain- "This isn't your office-" – but then again, it is.  _Let's say it is_ , Behemo thinks.  _Just give me some pride for once. I have a damn office. Behemo Barisol, it's right at the door. I've the name card to prove._

His hands burn- he didn't remember touching anything hot, now did he? But his right hand has the pills, they'll make everything so much better. Bet it could stop the bleeding, hey? Levia said that they were supplements, and she herself was taking them, so this must've been either supplements or medication to calm hysterics. His guests did seem a little hysterical, making him bleed all like that.

Tea would do. Behemo would pour them some tea.

_How are you doing, gentlemen? A cup of tea would suffice before you ask your questions?_

But they were awfully sloppy drinkers. Maybe they'd do better in a bar-

…

…

Behemo stopped.

Two men in bloodied white coats, looking as if they'd seen the devil, lying on two gurneys before him. His left hand, bleeding and burned. The small orange medicine box stained with the drips of his blood. His right hand, coated with saliva, presumably the policemen's. His cane, on the floor.

The room, an experimentation room.

No cameras. Nobody there.

The pills were gone.

...Oh, how he  _wished_  he knew that Zorach fellow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire Zorach drama can be found at the bonus chapter in 'theirphonograph' at tumblr.


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

* * *

_11:01 AM, MARCH 15 XXXX_

When it comes to scuffles with the law, it's best not to talk about them unless you're a newscaster or a journalist.

In both Behemo's and Levia's cases, they weren't newscasters or journalists, which could prove exactly why they didn't want to talk about scuffles with the law. The 'brother' had drugged two policemen. The 'sister' could only stand there in the same board room with her bound colleagues, who were looking at her and the phone as if they were the only mediums to their own freedoms. Neither one of them knew the situation of the other.

In fact, it was best that Levia didn't know what Behemo did.

She couldn't leave the room or help her colleagues due to the effect of the law taking place.  _No leaving a room when an interrogation is taking place, even if the other party has left somewhere else. Stay put so that the police can conveniently find you. Always do your part for the convenience of those who are protecting the society, your family, and you,_ said some handy police pamphlet she remembered reading from.

Levia wished that she didn't have to conform to measly patriotism, if it's going to be  _that_ way.

But Behemo himself was having even more problems in trying to wake the unconscious policemen. Earlier, he had doused his burned arm in water, and while that caused a lot of well-deserved pain, it at least washed a bit of the blood off. The fabric of his dress shirt stuck to his wound, and Behemo rolled the sleeve up with much difficulty and wincing. His blazer was badly charred at a sleeve, and the expensive garment was at the sink, absorbing the running water from the tap.

He closed his eyes and tried to imagine that his burned arm didn't hurt.

"Agh….argh…!" Behemo hissed, letting out some pent-up pain as he gritted his teeth.

 _It_ does _hurt, you nitwit. It hurts as if you've been to hell and back._

The blood from his burned arm wouldn't stop flowing, even though he wrapped it up with a spare cloth. The whiteness of the cloth became a madder red with his blood, and his blood only made the cloth stick to his wound like liquid glue on two pieces of drenched paper. In fact, he didn't know what to call the burn: first degree, second degree, damn it all. It feels like (and certainly looks like) an animal bit into his flesh and tore it out, leaving nothing but the sight of bleeding muscle.

Thank god it was his left arm. It reached to his hand to an extent.

Behemo turned to look at the man who gave him the most trouble – the redhead. Half an hour had passed, according to the clock, and some scientist will come in within the next half hour, according to the records. He needs to clean the place up. He needs to get these policemen to wake up. He needs to return to the goddamn hospital or he'd spend his new life without an arm.

"Sir," Behemo tried, wincing in pain as he took deep breaths.

Whoever said that taking deep breaths is a calming action was completely wrong.

"Sir, wake up, sir..." he tried again.

Nothing.

"Come  _on!_ " Behemo exclaimed in frustration and anger. " **Wake up!** "

A groan, but not from the man who took his time to interrogate him. It was the quiet one – the one with blue hair.

Behemo turned to look at the other policeman, who looked plenty dazed instead of angered at being in a research room. He clutched at his head, brushing away a few blue strands of his hair as he looked at his surroundings, first at his still unconscious colleague, and then at Behemo, who looked very much irritated and in pain. Disorientation overwhelmed him, but lack of speech, fortunately, did not.

"Mr. B-Behemo…." the blue-haired policeman managed.

"It's me, yes," Behemo nodded, and took a sharp gasp. "Bloody hell...it hurts," he added, biting his lower lip.

"Your arm, it's bleeding..did Farad do that?" the policeman asked, alarmed. "I'm sorry, let's get-"

"-eeding…? Nemit, who g-got...who's bleeding?"

"Mr. Behemo's bleeding," Nemit said, seemingly more aware as he got up, opening the door to reveal the pristine hallways of the outside. "We need to get him a Casting."

"Right, right, let me get up first," Farad groaned, and Behemo shut off the tap, retrieving his blazer and his cane, as well as the empty orange medicine case. It was odd that they suddenly got so concerned about him when they were both hell-bent on wanting to murder him, so he decided to keep quiet until he remembered the board room.

"The board room," Behemo said. "My superiors and my elder sister are still inside."

"Oh! Certainly, certainly..." Nemit nodded, looking at Farad. "You guide Mr. Behemo to get his arm a Casting. I'll go to the board room."

Farad nodded as he watched his colleague leave for the board room, and then he looked at Behemo, seemingly not remembering the fact that he was the one who threatened him, interrogated him and most importantly, burned his arm. Behemo looked back at him like a deer in the headlights, hiding his arm from view.

"...I did that," Farad bluntly said, leading Behemo to a much more lighted up area of the laboratories. "I'm terribly sorry. I hope you have no misgivings, because I really don't remember most of what I really did..."

"Then how did you know that you burned my arm?" Behemo asked, more acidly than he should have for very good reason.

"My powers-"

"What do you mean you  _don't remember most of what you did?_ "

"Actually...oh goddamn, give me a moment," Farad said, looking genuinely bewildered. "...I don't remember anything else, other than being given the assignment to question you about Professor Zorach..."

"Let me guess," Behemo said, his irritation growing by the second. "You don't remember shit but you clearly remember burning my arm with fire that just appears in your hands? Next thing you'll tell me is that you don't even remember you coming here in the first place."

Farad paled.

"I... _I don't._ "

* * *

_11:31 AM_

"Don't tell my sister," Behemo said, moving his left arm around as soon as it was Casted. Cast, with a capital C. Without the capital C, it meant as it is, 'casting your arm in a block of cement or wrapping it up as it heals in a painfully slow manner', but Casting is when three trained specialist nurses touch your wound and sweep their hands over your angry burns, making it as good as new. No scars. It looks like it's never even been burned, and his skin was fully restored and baby soft.

Like magic.

"Of course, Mr. Behemo," a nurse complied, but as soon as she said that, the door burst open, along with mentions of  _'Dr. Levia, please wait…!'_  from the medical aides in the Treatment Room #21. The sounds of Levia's heels clicking against the white-tiled floor along with her hysterical exclamations prompted Behemo to pretend to look at least like how he was half an hour ago – fatally wounded and out of shape. All it took was for him to close his eyes and form his mouth into a frown as he remained seated.

In two seconds, he felt Levia's cold hands on his right arm, and then her arms wrapped around his body.

Her entire weight was on him, and the sound of her voice, although laced with hysteria and panic, made him feel so reassured. Most people would say that the sound of well-played music would make them calm, which also applied to the young gentleman, but it's hard to describe how he felt when he heard her voice and felt her against him.

The closest he could get to describing the feeling is the feeling of returning to a loved one after a long time of being away from them.

"Behemo – oh god, Behemo, wake up…! Your  _arm_...Behemo,  _please…!_ "

Behemo opened his eyes and took a deep breath, then returned the embrace.

"I'm up. My arm's fine," he quietly said.

Levia pulled away from the hug to see her counterpart better, and Behemo could see the worry practically written all over her face. "The police?" she asked, a little too loud for comfort.

"An officer got you and the rest out, right?" Behemo asked. "That reminds me, where did the other one go?"

"Officer Farad had signed up to see one of our consulting psychologists," a nurse helpfully said. "Rather unusual, but they're currently having a session. The officer thinks that he's having either insomnia or short-term memory losses."

"Short term memory losses?" Levia repeated, looking at Behemo. "The other officer said something along the lines of not remembering how he bound the departmental heads."

"Frankly, I've had enough of the bullshit," Behemo sighed exasperatedly. "Officer Farad, or whatever his name is, because I've no intention of remembering his name anytime soon, burned my arm off with fire that just appeared in his hand. Care to explain  _that?_ "

"Oh, it's...um, natural here," the blonde said, blinking. "It's not common where you're from?"

"Magic's only in fairy tales," Behemo scoffed, rolling his eyes.

The nurses and Levia looked at him as if he was blaspheming against God, or saying that the grass clearly isn't green,  _you fools_.

"It's very much real, Behemo," Levia slowly said. "I even have-"

"No, no, I think I'm very much better off without knowing. I'd prefer forgetting the fact that I was  _magically burned_ , thank you very much, sister," he hissed, trying to remind himself that this isn't his good old home, but he was raised with the knowledge that magic doesn't exist, and back where he came from, when you clap your hands and say  _'I do believe in fairies!'_ , it usually earns you an amount of ridicule from your peers.

It doesn't make you fly.

But to Behemo's surprise, he didn't upset Levia – he encouraged her intent to boast him off to the nurses.

"Isn't he cute?" Levia suddenly said, pinching his left cheek as the nurses readily agreed with giggles and swoons. "He's so cute when he's in  _denial_!"

"His stubbornness is really cool, Dr. Levia!" a nurse chimed in.

"Like a cool male lead in a reverse harem drama!" another suggested cheerily.

Behemo expected himself to feel heavily offended, but to his surprise, no. It only served to prove that she knew him best, and he knew her best, even without them knowing. It was merely annoying, but it wasn't offensive at the very least, and he did let out a few annoyed sounds when Levia pinched.

"Kindly –  _ouch_ , Levia, my  _cheek_ …!"

"Mr. Behemo, sir," a voice came from behind him, prompting Behemo to turn around to notice (as the nurse quickly nodded towards as a gesture of recognition) the psychologist who was responsible for treating the officer. "And Dr. Levia, madame."

Behemo got up from his chair, saying a small 'thank you' to the nurses who treated him and addressed the doctor. "Yes, sir?"

"A word, out of the room if I may, sir, madame."

The 'twins' looked at each other, with Levia walking out first. Behemo followed, closed the door, and the psychologist looked around to see if anyone was around. The halls weren't empty, but everyone were too busy with their own businesses to even bother.

"Sir, madame, I've diagnosed Officer Farad."

"What is your diagnosis?" Levia asked, and the psychologist sighed, biting her lower lip.

"... _Malice_ , madame. He had been administered drugs beforehand."

Levia froze.

"Administered-" Behemo began, but cut himself off. "I sort of...drugged the man."

"It was a good thing you did, sir," the psychologist said, twirling her teal hair. "His symptoms lessened significantly right after."

"Well, that's good," Behemo nodded, failing to recognize the brevity of the very thing itself. "Do you think it's safe to put him under such medication for a constant period?"

Levia inched back a few steps.

"But then again..." the blond male continued, suddenly realizing something. The pills were the same as what Levia wanted to give him earlier on, and he forcibly shoved it in the policeman's mouth without knowing the repercussions. He hadn't the faintest clue what Malice is, but from the looks of it, it seemed like it was something serious.

Then…

Behemo turned to look at Levia.

"...Why did you give me the pills for Malice? What  _is_  Malice?" he asked.


End file.
